Knight & Day

Dylan’s expression went from lazy amusement to round-eyed surprise in five seconds flat. Surprise laced with arousal.

“Which is why you should leave right now,” Kara continued, aware that she’d said too much, as always. Her big mouth had got her into all sorts of trouble over the years, and it would seem that this was destined to be another of those times.

She watched him swallow hard and wanted to trace her index finger down his Adam’s apple.

He watched her watching him.

“Well, that’s an unexpected development, English.”

“You’re telling me,” she said. “Leave. Please?”

Kara manoeuvred herself off the bench and stood to allow him room to get out.

“Should I finish my drink?”

“Nope.”

“I could take my shirt off?”

He was standing too close, his fingers on the buttons at his chest, his eyebrows raised suggestively, his expression caught halfway between joking and deadly serious.

“Goodnight, Dylan.”

Kara crossed her arms firmly, and for the briefest of seconds Dylan’s eyes moved down to the cleavage she’d just inadvertently served up like two oranges on a platter. She didn’t dare open her mouth for fear of what might come out. “Rip my dress off and take a proper look,” sprang unhelpfully to mind.

Dylan leaned down and touched his lips against her cheek; warm, tingly, and lingering for a second longer than could be deemed platonic. Jesus, he smelt like nothing on earth. She wanted to lick his face.

“Goodnight, English,” he said softly. “I’ll see myself out. And for the record… I’ve never felt less like leaving anywhere in my life.”

Chapter Five

Dylan jerked awake just before sunrise, his heart thudding. A bead of sweat slipped down his cheek as he pushed himself up to sitting. He was alone. No-one knew he was here. He dropped back heavily against the soft pillows, forcing himself to concentrate on the constellations glowing above him, chasing his demons away across the Milky Way.

This place was different.

These people were different.

He could be different too.

Chapter Six

Dylan had forgotten his jacket.

Kara noticed it the moment she walked into the hallway the next morning. His scent surrounded her as she took it down from the hook, and it took some supreme effort not to bury her nose in it and inhale deeply.

“I’m going out for an hour. I’ll see you at the club,” she called through to Sophie in the kitchen, then stepped outside into the warm Ibizan morning.

Hiring the Mustang had been a no brainer. She’d listened to all of the wise advice to go for an air-conditioned saloon, and then gone merrily against it the moment she set eyes on the cherry red vintage soft top with curves in all the right places. Just looking at it winking at her in the sunshine lifted her spirits sky high, and she dropped Dylan’s jacket on the back seat to take to the club.

Music on, roof down, ready to go.

Kara really hadn’t intended to follow the signs for Cala Vadella, so finding herself rounding a bend and looking down over the prettiest possible blue bay came as a surprise. Or half a surprise. Or not really a surprise at all, given that she’d been the one behind the wheel. Hell, it was a small island, all the roads led to the same place. Probably. Feeling suddenly conspicuous in the Mustang, she slunk a little lower in her leather seat, her hands wide on the wheel as she craned her neck up the beach to see if there was any sign of Dylan.

Nothing.

She parked at the end of the bay, next to a dusty collection of cars, and climbed out, slinging Dylan’s jacket over her arm as she walked slowly down the curve of local shops and restaurants that backed the beach.

Where would he stay? Villas dotted the cliffs around the bay; high end places with terraces overlooking the breathtaking view of the coast. Was he in one of those? She strolled from one end of the beach to the other, seeing nothing and no-one to offer any clue to his whereabouts.

The sun beat hard down on the top of her head as, unexpectedly deflated, she turned into the shade of the closest bar and ordered a tall, frothy coffee as she flicked through yesterday’s newspaper that had been left on the table.

Ibiza really was the most stunning place. The sweep of sand in front of the bar looked like an office worker’s fantasy screensaver, a snapshot of perfection that served as a reminder of bygone holidays.

And then that snapshot suddenly became even more perfect, because a tall, half-naked American with surf boy hair and abs to match jogged straight across it. Left to right he tracked across her vision, as though she was watching a movie. So that’s what he’d have looked like if he’d taken his shirt off last night. Kara lifted the paper hastily, not wanting to be discovered sitting around waiting for him. She wasn’t sitting around waiting for him. She just happened to be passing, and happened to have his jacket, and happened to spot him.

Peeping around the edge of the paper, she breathed out a slow sigh of relief. He’d passed by the bar, and was now walking along the rocks around the edge of the beach, a brown paper bag in his hand. Where was he going? There must be a pathway up to one of those villas she’d seen. She wasn’t surprised. Leaving her coffee half finished, she put the newspaper back on the counter and moved outside to watch Dylan’s retreating back, her head tipping quizzically to one side as he kept on going along the rocks. A frown puckered her brow. Short of diving into the water, he was fast running out of places to go. And then he stopped, and stepped sideways onto a boat moored out in the bay.

Kara squinted. And then really squinted. Her feet started to move before she was even aware of it, carrying her closer to inspect Dylan’s unlikely digs, automatically slinging his jacket over her arm. She picked her way along the uneven path hewn into the rocks around the edge of the bay, past several impressive looking boats along the way, until she drew closer to the boat moored at the end.

Oh. My. God. What was that thing?

At that moment movement caught her eye, and she noticed Dylan up on the roof deck with his back to her. If she walked away real quiet, there was every chance he’d never know she’d been here. She wanted to do that. She definitely wanted to do that.

“Hey, Danny Zuko! You forgot your jacket!”

That was it. When she got home she was booking herself in to have her jaw wired together. In fact, make that a lobotomy, she’d clearly lost her marbles. Why the hell else would she be standing there like one of the Pink Ladies holding her T-Bird boyfriend’s jacket?